Unused Room

Naturally more work needed, looking for fresh perspective.

Pawpaw rarely recognized the small items pilfered during my visits. They were inconsequential, such as the Bic lighter I once gained. Being seven, bored and with my grandfather out tending to the animals, I decided to test out my recently gained cancer-aided (as Mom called them). Why trust a talking bear replete with a baritone voice and campaign cover who is merely posing as a ranger; everyone knows bears don’t wear hats, unless they are in the circus.

The unused foyer was the grounds for my research in pyro-engineering. Small scraps of paper at first, but my curiosity and was unquenchable. A larger fire was necessary. A move to the kitchen to scan for kindling quickly proved fruitful. Pawpaw grew up in the Depression Era and shopped at Piggly Wiggly, a combination which resulted in the hoarding of anything potentially useful, namely the brown paper bags emblazoned with Mr. Wiggly’s smiling pig face in fire-red ink.

The bags proved very supportive in blaze-construction. Naturally, the ignition-experiment quickly grew out of hand as my left hand was burned by one of the bags, causing me to drop it on the other bags located on a dusty polyester-fibered lounger. I quickly learned the lounger was more conducive to starting an inferno, not a fire, and soon the room transformed to a furnace. Panic ensued, and the smoke sifting through the house alerted my Alzheimer’s addled grandmother to potential danger. Though she was unable to recall any of our names, or speak coherently, she still realized that water trumps fire. However, our drinking cups of water caddied from the kitchen sink did little to check the advancing flame, so in humiliation I finally hollered for my grandfather.

A garden house prevented complete disaster and the beating I received from my parents ensured it would be awhile before my next experiment (and that it would assuredly occur outside).